


In Which Everyone's a Little Bit Magic

by YourAverageBookworm



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arthur has magic, M/M, Magic Revealed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-22
Updated: 2017-01-22
Packaged: 2018-09-17 10:31:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9319736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YourAverageBookworm/pseuds/YourAverageBookworm
Summary: Or how, in the span of six days, Arthur manages to not get his father killed, discover interesting things about himself, and discover even more interesting things about the people around him.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ChaoticDemon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChaoticDemon/gifts).



Day 1- A recap

It had been a good day for hunting up until they’d encountered the witch— the air was crisp, the sun was out, the birds were singing. The animals even seemed to be slower than usual. Arthur had bagged three rabbits and a quail in the span of an hour (no thanks to Merlin’s complaints and general moral indignation). It had been such a good day, in fact, that Arthur hadn’t thought twice about following the giant stag that jumped into the clearing in front of them and then sauntered off.

Merlin had stared.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen a stag saunter.”

“Shut up, Merlin, it’s getting away.”

“All I’m saying is that something is wrong, and also if you kill it I’m not carrying it back.”

Merlin, curse him, had been right, and something had been wrong. The witch had appeared just as he’d been about to kill the stag, muttered something about Arthur’s time coming and needing her to bring out his true potential before it was too late. Arthur had drawn his sword, but she’d wiggled her fingers and said something unintelligible before disappearing in a dramatic poof of smoke.

Clearly neither of them had been expecting that, because they were left staring at each other, wide eyed and open mouthed. A split second later, a tree branch fell and crashed on the exact same spot the witch had been standing.

It had been a strange incident indeed, but as nothing seemed to have really happened (she’d obviously tried to cast a spell of some sort, but Arthur hadn’t suddenly started glowing or changed colors so he considered himself safe), he decided to ignore that it had happened and return home with his bounty. Merlin didn’t seem too bothered by the witch herself, but he spent half of their journey back rambling something about the after effects of spells causing falling tree branches, and how the trees in this forest were quite unstable, it really wasn’t safe. Arthur tuned him out and they were soon back to the kingdom, the incident behind them.

But then the dreams start.

           

Day 2

The first one is the most dream-like. It’s hazy, as if the air itself is thick, and breaths come slowly. He’s walking into his father’s chambers, and the first thing he sees is Uther’s face, the detail shockingly crisp in comparison to everything else. His father’s mouth is open in pain and anger and outrage, and then he collapses. The pure panic and shock Arthur feels is like a punch to the gut. He turns to face who did it, his hand going to the sword on his belt, and comes face to face with a hooded figure dressed in a dark robe. He (? She?) lowers their hands, still sparking from the after effects of a spell and whirls to face him. From the dream Arthur can’t see anything under the hood, but his mouth forms words and speaks anyway, almost without his permission.

“You? But I trusted you—”

The figure shakes their head and puts a finger to their mouth. Their eyes light up like molten gold, the only thing visible under the hood, and it’s the last thing Arthur sees before the world goes black.

 

He bolts upright in his bed, startling Merlin on the other side of the room, who’d clearly just come in with his breakfast. There’s a clatter as the tray of food is haphazardly dropped on the table, and bits of sausage fly off.

“Arthur! What—?”

Arthur would usually berate Merlin for his clumsiness, but the dream is fresh in his mind and almost too vivid, more like a faded memory than anything.

“I… what a strange dream…” But he shakes himself. “Don’t think I didn’t notice the sausages.”

“It’s hard when someone scares you half to death. It was only thanks to my quick reflexes that any of your breakfast was saved. But don’t try to change the subject—what dream?”

Sometimes it still boggled the mind how openly brazen Merlin could be. Honestly it’s a miracle Arthur puts up with him. But despite how demanding the question was for a servant, he ends up describing the dream anyway.  

Merlin’s quiet for a few seconds, and Arthur half ~~fears~~ expects him to laugh and call Arthur silly for being bothered by such things. Arthur certainly would have done the same for anyone else, had he not felt the strange clarity of the dream. But then,

“You say it was almost like a memory?”

“Yes.”

More silence. Arthur tries not to squirm.

“You have some free time after you train the knights this afternoon, yeah? Maybe we should go see Gaius.”

 

Gaius proves to not be very helpful.  He says something about making the same draught for Arthur that he makes for the Lady Morgana, but then he and Merlin go off in a corner in what they must have think is a subtle way to discuss something and Arthur is left to wander around and look at the various vials and books messily splayed out on the tables. He’s examining a brightly colored substance labeled “Unicorn dung”, when the door opens and Morgana strides into the room.

It must say something that the reason Arthur notices something is wrong with her is that she seems… tamped down, somehow. Her dress doesn’t even billow behind her, and she looks exhausted though her eyes are frighteningly bright.

“Arthur,” she says, clearly surprised to see him there. “Is… Do you know where Gaius is?”

“Yes, Lady Morgana?” Gaius emerges from the corner. It doesn’t escape Arthur’s notice that Merlin’s giving Morgana the strangest look. He sighs. Is he still fond of her then? Arthur had thought that nonsense was over with.

“I was wondering if I could have some olive oil. And parsley?”

“Of course my lady.” He sets about gathering the materials. “But may I ask, whatever do you need it for?”

She seems taken aback by the question. “Oh, I… Gwen likes parsley to cook with, but… but the cook is stingy. Same with the olive oil.” If Gaius thought it strange Gwen herself wouldn’t come to pick up the materials, he kept quiet and finished gathering the materials.

“Here you go,” he says, handing them over.

“Thank you Gaius.” And without another word, she leaves.

With Morgana gone, Gaius seems to notice Arthur again. “I’m sorry sire, I just realized I had already made a vial of the draught. Here,” he picks a bottle with slightly blueish liquid off a nearby table. “Drink this before you sleep. I need Merlin’s help to make a few remedies—could you spare him for a few hours?”

Arthur sighs. Everyone feels suspicious, but he’s tired and there’s nothing he can do about it. “Yes, I think I can somehow manage to make do without him. Maybe I’ll find a servant who will actually be on time for once. Thank you Gaius.”

“May you sleep well, sire.”

 

Day 3

Of course he doesn’t.

It’s the same dream, but it’s less soupy this time. He walks into Uther’s chambers and sees his shock and outrage. It hurts just as much as the first time, but this time his vision seems expanded somehow. Whereas before he’d mainly been focusing on his father’s face, this time enough is clearer that notices his father holding a jewel encrusted scepter he doesn’t remember from before. It falls to the floor with a loud clatter when Uther falls, almost in slow motion. And he turns to face the figure, and the world goes black and—

He snaps his eyes open, gasping, and hears Merlin yelp from somewhere else in the room.

“Again?”

“Again.”

Luckily this time no sausages are lost, but it’s a near thing.

 

Besides the wake up, the morning passes normally, and it almost calms Arthur (at this point he’s trying aggressively not to think about the dream or what it could mean that he’s dreamt the same thing two nights in a row). He trains the knights and then gets dressed for the council meeting. Usually the council meetings bore him, but he finds himself looking forward to the sheer monotony as a sign of normalcy, and at least to a meal of one of the rabbits he’d caught if nothing else. But Uther has an announcement.

“In five days King Bayard is coming to discuss some territory renegotiations. We are to hold a feast to welcome him and his men, and rooms need to be prepared. In addition, I want two guards at my rooms at all times.”

This seems odd. “Father,” Arthur says, “Wouldn’t it be a poor display of trust to do so?”

Uther nods. “Usually you would be correct but I have an excuse. We’re to give him a gift as a gesture of good will, and it will be stationed at my chambers.” 

Arthur’s stomach drops, and it’s not the rabbit (though it tastes strange and he suspects the cook hasn’t forgiven him for trekking mud through the kitchens on his way back). “What’s the gift?”

Uther gives him a questioning look but answers anyway. “Just a scepter. Nothing too extravagant, but a nice gesture nonetheless.”

Arthur barely hears the rest of the council meeting. A scepter— most likely a jewel-encrusted like the one from his dream. This confirms several things for him. There _is_ something about his dream, something grounded in fact. He’s heard of seers before, but very little as seers usually use more magic than his father is comfortable with (read: any). How he’s getting dreams without magic isn’t something wants to contemplate yet, but if his dreams really are premonitions, then there is a sorcerer in the castle planning to kill the king, and it will happen before Bayard arrives and Uther hands over the scepter, most likely on the day of as Uther was holding the scepter in his dream.

It means Arthur needs some way of confirming this is real. It means he needs to flush out the killer in four days or less without letting his father know how he knows. And it means he needs a confidant— someone to help him—and it doesn’t occur to him until later that he doesn’t think twice about it being Merlin.

“If it is a premonition—and I believe it is—I don’t know what to think,” he says, sitting in front of the fire as Merlin sweeps up his chambers. “How did this even happen?” And as he says it, a memory comes back of an old woman yelling at him about helping him before it’s too late. “The witch! She must have done this to me. But that makes no sense—why would a witch want to warn me of Uther’s murder?”

Merlin stiffens slightly from where he’s sweeping. Arthur almost would have thought it was his imagination if not for Merlin’s next words. “Not… not all magic users are evil. Perhaps she’s a good one.”

Arthur just stares. Merlin has basically admitted to treasonous thoughts, but then again, the fact that Arthur is even having visions is treasonous.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, magic is sort of like a weapon, right? Whoever wields it can either destroy others or choose to protect them just as anyone with a sword can. This witch chose the latter.”

He’s unimpressed. “Then how come I’ve never met a helpful magic user before this one?”

“It’s a little hard when Uther executes every sorcerer he sees. And besides, you’re one yourself now, aren’t you?” Merlin had started his little rant slowly and hesitantly, but as it’s continued, he’s grown louder and more unapologetic. It’s more than enough to get him executed, and Arthur finds himself both marveling at both how lucky and stupid Merlin is, it seems almost in equal measure. If Uther heard even two seconds of this conversation…

“An accidental magic user. That’s hardly the same thing.”

“Not everyone works to come by their magic. Some are born with it.”

That’s the last straw. “Merlin, this is going too far. You know what you’re saying could have you killed.”

“Then I guess I just have to trust you not to report me.”

He’s looking at Arthur strangely, not quite challenging and not quite anything soft but somewhere in between. Arthur hates it when Merlin does this, like he thinks he knows what Arthur will choose, thinks he can expect it from him. He knows what Merlin sees—a chance for redemption or a test of morality. He hates it, and he hates it even more that of course he would never turn Merlin in or do anything to break that trust.  

“You’re the worst manservant a prince could ask for, you know that?”

“I try my best.”

“Well then _Mer_ lin, you believe in my dream then? You believe that someone close to me could be a sorcerer with the intent to kill the king?”

“I…” Merlin finally begins to falter. “I don’t know to be honest. It must be true, but I can’t believe Morg—I mean, I can’t believe it.”  

“Then that makes two of us. This whole thing feels ridiculous. Even if this witch did give me the ability to dream the future somehow, there are no magic users stupid enough to enter and stay in Camelot, let alone any close to me or Uther.” Merlin had turned a couple shades paler. There really was something funny about that rabbit, he knew it. That entire hunting trip had been cursed. “Well, logical or not, I suppose it’s happening. I’m going to come up with a plan to find this person before Bayard arrives, and you’re going to help me.”

 At that Merlin snorts. “Nice to know I have a choice in this matter, but of course I’ll help you.”

Arthur sits and stares into the fire and tries to think, but a few minutes later, Merlin interrupts his thoughts. “Arthur?” He says. “Thank you for… for listening to me. I know this isn’t easy for you to hear.”

He leans back. “To be honest Merlin, I can’t remember the last time you said anything that was. You’re lucky you haven’t been thrown in the dungeons thousands of times by now.”

“Prat.”

“Idiot.”  

And Arthur tries not to read too much into how fond the insults come out.

 

Day 4

The dream is becoming rote, even if Arthur’s feelings of panic aren’t. It’s hard to suppress no matter how much he tells himself it hasn’t come to pass yet. He wakes in a cold sweat, for a split second terrified out of his mind. If this is what having magic is like, he doesn’t see what all of the fuss is about.

He knows he must look like hell in the morning because Merlin looks worried. Funnily enough, that in itself is worrying because Merlin usually does a better job of concealing it, but he also looks strangely tired, almost as if he didn’t get much sleep either. Arthur decides to shove down his ~~concern~~ annoyance at this through a tried and true method— making plans and giving Merlin work to do.

“Merlin, I’ve narrowed down a list of possible suspects. You’re dismissed from your normal duties today. Instead, I want you to follow them and see if there’s anything suspicious.”  
Merlin picks up the list and his mouth falls open. “Arthur, this list includes _all of your knights_. How do you expect me to follow all of them?”

“It’s just all of my knights, the cook, the stable boy, and Uther’s new maidservant. It’s really not that bad.”

“Do you really think you can quantify everyone close to you just like that? You barely know the stable boy’s name—how do you trust him? And some of these people are just people you deem suspicious. Cook doesn’t have access to any of the bedchambers so it wouldn’t be her. And aren’t you missing a couple people on here? Like… erm, say for example… Morgana?”

Arthur snorts. The last sentence is so obviously meant to sound casual but comes out as anything but. Does Merlin want to be around her so badly he wants Arthur to assign him to follow her? He can think again.

“There are so many slanderous accusations there I don’t know where to start. First, I trust the stable boy with Llamerei, which means I trust him completely. Second, Cook is still angry with me and yes that does make her suspicious. Third, that’s Lady Morgana to you and of course it’s not Morgana. I would know if it was her, so you’re not following her. Besides, that would be like saying Gwen’s got magic. Or you.”

At that Merlin makes some strange tittering sound that Arthur realizes must be laughter. “Ah fair point. I’ll get about following them then, shall I?”

At least now he’s being compliant. “I’ll help you as well when I’ve free time. I can take my knights, but I want you looking for all the servants.”

           

At the end of the day they reconvene. Through a combination of spying (Merlin), stealthily following (Arthur), and asking the right questions, sometimes not in very subtle ways (Merlin) they find out that Sir Lionel is sleeping with a lady in the town and that the new servant boy Gareth has been practicing sword fighting on his own (he’s rather good—Arthur will have to talk to him in private at some point). They discover the stable boy has a borderline disturbing love of horses (and watch as he gets bitten when he gets too friendly), and catch the cook substituting in horse meat for beef (Arthur had been very smug and Merlin had just thrown his hands up in the air). Arthur learns more than he needed to about the surprisingly fraught drama and interpersonal relationships between his knights, and Merlin learns much much more than he needed to about the sexual activities of some of the other servants.         

But there’s no sign of any sort of treason.

(Arthur also hears from a passing servant girl that she’d seen Merlin around the Lady Morgana’s bedchambers last night, almost as if he’d been spying on her. Arthur is incredibly annoyed and resolves to have have a strong talk with Merlin about the best ways to woo a woman. Also she’s too far above his station. Also Merlin? And Morgana?? Sure they both have similar features and strong moral codes and are incredibly outspoken and passionate people, but it would never work.)

Arthur collapses on his bed, exhausted. “Well that was utterly disappointing.”

Merlin follows suit a second later, and ends up lying next to Arthur, his hair tickling Arthur’s arm. “I told you this plan was rubbish.” He shudders. “At least what you learned was educational. All I want now is to be able to scrub out my mind.”

“I’m used to bawdy tales, Merlin. What I don’t need is to hear about how Kay was offended by Geraint because he accidentally used his favorite sword once, and called his cooking terrible besides, or how Lamorak has been too chummy with Bedivere, who’s Caradoc’s best friend or some other such nonsense. I’m their leader—I’m not supposed to see their squabbles every time I look at them.”

Merlin smiled. “Admit it, Arthur—you just can’t stand realizing your knights have emotions. It confuses your manly brain.”

“Hey, I put up with your emotions and secrets, don’t I?”

“What?” There’s a note of panic in his voice, and Arthur sighs.

“Merlin, I know you’re in love with Morgana. It’s not a mystery.”

“What?!” This time Merlin actually bolts upright and, amusingly, his voice is slightly higher pitched. “Where did you hear that?”

“I have _eyes_ , Merlin. And one of the servants said she saw you around her room last night, watching her. We really need to talk about acceptable behavior around women. Honestly.”

Merlin is beet red. It’s ~~almost charming~~ annoying. “I… No! That wasn’t why—That must have been someone else.” He sighs and flops back down next to Arthur. “I assure you, I don’t have feelings for _Morgana_.”

It almost sounds like Merlin emphasizes Morgana’s name slightly, although perhaps it’s Arthur’s imagination. He’s unsure of what to say, and so they just lie there in silence for a minute. It’s uncharacteristically tender for them. He can still feel Merlin’s hair brushing against his shoulder and he scoots a little closer, listening as their breaths match and even out. Then Merlin’s head falls softly against his shoulder, and that’s what finally gives Arthur the courage to ask, “Do you have feelings for someone else, if not Morgana?”

He can almost hear his heart beating loudly in his chest, but there’s no response. When he looks over, Merlin is fast asleep.

Arthur sighs and watches Merlin snore lightly, the firelight flickering over his skin. He’s not dead— Merlin is an attractive man in his own way. There more you get to know him, the more his face sort of becomes him. Especially at times like this, at night when the fire lights up part of his face or when he smiles suddenly and genuinely, it’s disarming and he’s strangely… beautiful.

And with this whole vision thing, not once has he doubted Arthur or accused him of sorcery. He’s always at Arthur’s side, always supporting and pushing and prodding him and giving sudden tidbits of wisdom and trying to make him better.

Ahem. Not that Arthur usually thinks that. No, most of the time Merlin is an idiot. A big-eared, goofy idiot with too big smiles and blue eyes and… and a terrible haircut. Yes. Honestly, who still thought that bowl cuts were a good idea? He sighs again and pulls Merlin closer to him.

He falls asleep a few seconds later to the sound of Merlin’s even breathing and a low warmth in his chest that he tells himself is borrowed from Merlin’s body heat. 

Day 5 

Arthur dreams again, but when he wakes he’s tangled up in a combination of bedsheets and Merlin’s limbs. The next few moments are filled with nervous laughter and untangling, and soon Merlin is bustling about getting breakfast ready, refusing to meet his eyes. Every time they get physically close or almost touch, Merlin startles and moves away a bit. It’s everything Arthur didn’t want, and he doesn’t quite follow how this happened. Isn’t Merlin always envying Arthur’s bed? So what if they woke up cuddling? It was warm and— Arthur thought, at least –kind of nice. Unless Merlin doesn’t agree and is uncomfortable with any feelings Arthur might have for him… His stomach drops and he refuses to think about it anymore. 

He makes excuses to Uther about feeling under the weather, saying something vague about stomach flu (he’s crossing his fingers that an investigation will be conducted into the meal preparation). Then he and Merlin, who is still frustratingly quiet, sneak out of the castle and head out to the woods where they’d encountered the witch. The way Arthur figures it, if the witch was giving him the visions, then the witch must know the full extent of them. Perhaps she’ll be able to tell him the rest. Either way, with only one day left to go, they’re out of options.

Much to Arthur’s dismay, conversation is still stilted despite him trying his hardest. He criticizes Merlin’s lack of foresight in not bringing a weapon and Merlin just makes some vague “mmm”-ing noise. He comments on the unusually bright weather and his only response is a dismissive, “True.” He even says something about the fickleness of sight-granting witches, and there’s no reply at all. Usually Merlin would be talking his ears off with gossip or brainless chatter or—he can’t believe he even misses it, but—borderline treasonous insults. One more noncommittal answer later, he decides enough is enough.

“Alright, I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have kept you in my bed.” At that Merlin’s head shoots up with a scandalized look (although is it bad that some part of Arthur is glad that he’s even meeting his eyes?), and he quickly hurries to explain. “I mean— I should have woken you up so you could return to your room. It’s… It’s just that it…” he reaches for something. “…it helps to have someone else in the room. With the dreams I mean. It makes them less intense.”

For some reason, this only makes Merlin slump slightly and refuse to meet Arthur’s eyes again. “Oh, is that why?”

What is he doing wrong? “Yes. I never meant to make you uncomfortable.” 

Merlin sighs. “It’s fine Arthur. You’re not the one at fault. I shouldn’t have fallen asleep on your bed in the first place. Or gotten so… close. I overstepped.”

“What?” That makes Arthur stop short. “I thought the closeness made you uncomfortable.”

“What?” Merlin stops besides him as well. “When did I say that? I’ve always—stag!”

He’s never been more confused in his life. “What?”

“ _Stag_. Right there.”

Arthur looks up and sure enough, the same stag from before is staring straight at them. If he didn’t know better, he’d say it almost looks amused.

He mentally curses it, and the witch for her terrible sense of timing. “Fine. We’ll talk later.”

The stag leads them into the same clearing as before, and just as before, the witch appears. Merlin mumbles something about how if she wants to avoid execution, she should probably switch up her routine, but she just smiles at them.

“Hello Pendragon. Back so soon I see.”

He swallows hard and chooses his words carefully. “Miss… Witch. I mean you no harm and I… I thank you for the visions. But Bayard is arriving tomorrow and I can’t figure out who the killer is. Could you tell me so I can stop the murder?”

The witch arches an eyebrow, her expression somewhere between surprised and amused. Arthur’s pride bristles, but he bites his tongue.

“I would, but I didn’t ‘grant’ you the visions, young Pendragon—I simply helped nurture what was already there.”

“What do you mean?”

She sighs. “I don’t know how to make this plainer. You already had a propensity for magic. I just sped it along in time to alert you of an unfortunate event—the rest is up to you.”

Arthur doesn’t even want to think about everything that implies. That’s for a later time, when this is over and he can suitably panic. There are already too many things to think about today with Merlin, and now this. It’s enough to make him want to almost run away from it all.

And Morgana calls him emotionally stunted—it’s not his fault people keep forcing him to feel things.

“But why are you doing this?”

She smiles, almost softly. “You’re not the only one with a gift for Sight. I just happen to be able to see the many outcomes of this, and I’m picking the best one. Good luck Arthur, and to you Merlin,” she says, and then disappears in a cloud of smoke.

 

They’re both silent on the way back to the castle, still processing everything that’s happened. Almost in a trance, Arthur pays off the stable boy, and he and Merlin make their way back up to his rooms. Thankfully it’s night (though Arthur mentally curses the witch for making them travel all that way for five minutes of conversation—are all magic users this dramatic?), and it’s too late to interact with anyone else.

Where does he go from here? They have no leads on the killer, and that means that Uther is as good as dead. Although, Arthur thinks with a sick sort of amusement, at least that means he’ll never find out his own son has magic. Or live to kill him for it.

“What do I do, Merlin?” He blurts. “The killer will strike tomorrow. I can’t tell my father how I know this, or he’ll kill me, because apparently _I_ have magic. You were right after all—some people really are born with it.” He lets out a shaky laugh. “I don’t know what I’m doing anymore. I don’t know what there is _to_ do anymore.”

Merlin sighs and comes to sit down next to him on his bed. “Arthur, it’ll be okay. I know it doesn’t look like it, but we’ll figure it out. I swear to you Uther won’t die tomorrow.”

He says it with such conviction that Arthur almost believes him. He already wants to so badly. He nudges Merlin with his shoulder. “If you say so Merlin. At least… I mean, thank you for being here.”

Merlin smiles and nudges him back. And then, “Does it really?” Merlin says. “I mean, would me being here really help with the dreams?”  
Arthur has never seen Merlin look more uncertain, almost as if he’s holding himself back and straight. It’s not a good look for him—it doesn’t suit him at all, not when Arthur’s used to relaxed smiles and laughter and tiny crinkles around his eyes.

“If I said it did, would you stay?”

As soon as he says it, the stiffness melts away, and Arthur knows it was the right thing to say.

“Yes,” Merlin says. “Yes I will.” And he leans in and kisses Arthur, soft and sweet.  

They end up propped up on the pillows, Merlin’s head resting on Arthur’s chest. Arthur feels something low and warm burning inside him, as if he’s just drank a goblet of wine. He thinks about what Merlin had said about promising everything would be alright, and in this moment, it’s easy to believe.

 

But Arthur dreams that night, the hooded figure is nowhere to be seen, but Merlin strides into Uther’s chambers, his eyes glowing gold.

Day 6

Merlin wakes mainly due to an ache in his shoulders. The reason for that becomes abundantly clear when he opens his eyes and the first thing he sees is that he’s been handcuffed to the bed with iron.

The second thing he sees is Arthur, standing about two feet away from him, somehow looking furious and hurt and wronged all at once.

His mind reaches for the worst conclusion, and his stomach drops. “Arthur, I—”

“Save it, Merlin. I saw you using magic. You’re the killer, aren’t you? The entire time, you were by my side,” Arthur says, his voice turning bitter.  

It was the dream then. Merlin’s still only half awake—he hadn’t gotten any sleep when he’d been tailing Morgana, trying to see whether it was her that was plotting to kill Uther—and his brain feels like it’s still in a fog. Arthur does have visions, that much is true, but why would he see Merlin trying to kill Uther? Merlin’s certain he has no such intentions.

“Arthur, you know I would never harm Uther.”

“So you don’t have magic either then.”

And that was the crux of the situation. He squirmed. “I… I swear I was going to tell you—”

“Don’t,” Arthur bites out, and Merlin flinches. “Well I guess that gives me one less thing to worry about. I’m going to go find Morgana, and we’ll figure out what to do from here.”

Panic setting in, Merlin pulls at the handcuffs, but they’re iron, and he knows magic will be useless. “Arthur, wait! Yes I have magic, but I swear I’ve only ever used it for you and for Camelot. I would never kill Uther, but if you keep me here, I won’t be able to protect him either.”

In two strides, Arthur is at the bedside, leaning in until his face is a couple inches away from Merlin’s, jaw tight and eyes furious. “Don’t you _dare_ try to play games with me, Merlin. Not after everything that’s happened, after I _trusted—”_ He breaks off with a choked noise. “Don’t think you can threaten my father and then trick me into setting you free. It’s too much of a coincidence that you of all people have magic.” Arthur sighs and steps back. “I… I could never kill you at this point, but once today is over, you’re banished. If I ever see you here again, it’ll mean your death sentence.”

Merlin looks up at him, shocked, feeling like his entire world has been pulled out from under him. Arthur just turns away and continues walking until he pauses by the doorway. “Did any of it even mean anything to you?” He says. His voice is almost too soft to hear. 

And then he’s gone and the door slams shut, leaving Merlin lying on the bed, unable to think anything but that less than a few hours ago, he’d been asleep in Arthur’s arms

 

Arthur’s heartbeat is loud in his ears, roaring through his body. Servants pass but when they notice his expression, the duck their heads and walk a little faster. He hardly notices, he’s so lost in the adrenaline rush, in trying to focus on what he needs to do and not think about what has happened.

Merlin has magic. Merlin’s been lying to him. Not only that, Merlin’s been lying to him _this entire time._ The memory flashes through his mind of Merlin, handcuffed to the bed, mouth partially open in shock and looking more hurt than Arthur’d ever seen him, but then he thinks _I wonder if it was amusing to him, to convince me that he loved me before killing my father_ , and the image pushed aside by anger and pain.

Almost in a trance, he reaches Morgana’s room and shoves open the doorway. Whatever Morgana’s doing can stand to be interrupted for—

The door swings open to reveal Morgana, hands at her sides, kneeling in front of a large wooden bowl with her eyes closed muttering something softly.

She’s floating two inches off of the ground.

He freezes for a moment as his brain struggles to catch up with his eyes, and then he takes a step back. Maybe if he closes the door quickly enough, she won’t notice him and he can go get—

But then her eyes snap open, and a gust of air pushes him in before slamming the door shut behind him. He grabs the nearest candelabra, ready to fight.

“Oh put that down, will you? Don’t be so dramatic.”

Morgana’s eyes are blue once again, but what’s more startling are the dark bags under them. She looks tired, and her words don’t even have the same bite that they usually do. It catches Arthur off guard.

“Says the person who just slammed the door shut using magic.”

“Says the person who slammed open the door like they had a demon on their tail. I know you’ve never heard of privacy, Arthur, but it would be nice if you pretended once in a while.”

Under any other circumstance, their bickering would provide an almost comforting feeling of normality, but this is not any other circumstance. “Morgana, what’s going on? If you want me to put this down, you owe me an explanation.”

She sighs, and Arthur takes a cautious step closer. Morgana doesn’t look tired, she looks _exhausted_.

“This is going to sound ridiculous.”

“Try me.”

“Well,” she says, “I know that you know that someone will attempt to murder Uther today. I also know that the murder is set to happen in the next two hours. And I know that you don’t know how your Sight works, nor do you know that I have it as well. You can’t try to arrest me or kill me because you’d be the worst kind of hypocrite.”

 _I know that you know…_ He shakes his head, trying to put it all together. What he ends up with is, “You have Sight as well?”

“Yes, and quite a bit better than yours if I should say so myself. What sort of vision helps you see part of an event but not when it occurs?” Her tone of voice is strange, almost trying to be harsh and matter of fact when in reality she’s rambling and there’s an underlying note of something like fear. “The only thing I haven’t discerned from the vision is who the murderer is. Hence the scrying.” She gestures to the bowl in front of her, and upon closer inspection, Arthur realizes it’s full of olive oil—the same she’d borrowed from Gaius.

Wait. “And the parsley?”

 “Gwen really did need parsley.” She shrugs. “Anyway, now that you’re all caught up, you can help me. I know it’s a lot of information, but please pick up your jaw, we don’t have much time.”

Arthur had most certainly not been gaping like a fool, but he closes his mouth anyway. At this point, he thinks half hysterically, maybe the question he should be asking is whether anyone close to him _doesn’t_ have magic. And that reminds him of why he came here.

“I can spare you the effort— Merlin’s the killer, I saw it.”

Morgana’s eyes widen. “Merlin? But, that can’t be.”

“He has magic.”

“But _I_ saw a little of the killer from my scrying, before you rudely interrupted me. He looked like a young boy with…” She scrunches her eyes. “…with what looked like a bite mark on his hand.”

A bite on his hand? That seems strangely familiar…

And then he remembers the stable boy, hands cupped to receive his coins, a bite on the back of his hand from attending the horses.

In his dream Merlin was never the figure under the hood—he’d replaced him entirely. Merlin wasn’t the killer, and he was a fool.

“Shit. We have to go back to my room right now.”

And for the third time that day, the door slams open dramatically as he runs down the hall, Morgana on his heels, hoping he’s not too late.

           

Merlin is where Arthur had left him, handcuffed to the bed. What’s unfortunately new is the stable boy standing behind him, dressed in an overly large hooded robe, with a knife to his throat. For a split second, Arthur’s heart stops, and then Merlin’s eyes flicker over to his, and he realizes Merlin is still alive.

“So Merlin,” he says almost conversationally, hoping his voice isn’t quavering too much.  “You’re not the killer. I told you I trusted the stable boy.”

He’s relieved to see Merlin snort, but then it turns into a wince as the knife is pressed slightly into his skin.

The stable boy’s eyes narrow. “Step any closer, and I kill him.”

“You kill him and there’s no way you’re leaving this castle alive.”

The stable boy laughs. “Like there’s any way I’m leaving with my life. You know what I am, and you know what I’m planning to do.”

Here, Morgana decides to join the conversation. “Why _are_ you planning to do it? I never figured that out.”

“I was born a magic user, and Uther burned my village to the ground because someone gave him word. I was forced to grow up in the woods by myself with only the animals for company. At this point it’s not even an original story, because he’s done the same to so many others. Why would I not kill him?”           

“Wait,” Arthur’s caught on one of the details. “Is that why the thing with the horses?”

“Excuse me for not being able to trust the people in this kingdom enough to ever get close to them.”

“Not that a little backstory isn’t nice,” says Merlin, from the bed, “But can we get back on topic?”

Right. Arthur turns back to the stable boy. “If you let Merlin go and leave the kingdom peacefully, I swear you won’t be harmed.”

“And I’m to trust the word of a Pendragon?”

“You don’t really have a choice,” Morgana points out.

“I could kill you where you stand.”

“Try me.” Power lines Morgana’s voice as her eyes glow gold. “I may not have enough magic to kill you, but I can sure as hell defend myself and Arthur.”

This at least seems to surprise the boy and make him reconsider. “I’ll leave, but I’m taking this one with me until I reach the edge of the kingdom. Consider it collateral—give me the keys to his handcuffs. No—slide them across the floor.”

Arthur can hardly believe his luck. He holds his breath, and slides the keys over. The boy’s eyes glow gold, and they rise up in the air to unlock Merlin’s handcuffs. As soon as they’re open, Merlin smiles.

“Much better,” he says, and then his eyes light up and within an instant, the stable boy slumps to the floor.

 

They get Merlin out of the handcuffs and the stable boy into them. And then for a second, they just stand (or sit) there with the stunned silence of three all very tired people who can’t quite believe how they managed to resolve this in one piece.

“What do we do now?” He finally asks.

“Well Arthur,” Morgana says, expression unreadable, “that’s up to you.”

The stable boy is still lying on the ground, unconscious and handcuffed. Next to him, Merlin is rubbing his wrists, wincing slightly. The thin red cut on his neck is visible even from several feet away. And Morgana is looking at him, eyes red rimmed and tired. 

It has, Arthur thinks, been quite a week.

The Sight is a twisted gift, not one he’s sure he would wish on anyone. And, he thinks, this is what magic must be like—tangled and complex. It’s saved their lives, but it’s sort of ruined them as well. No that’s not right. He’s done as much harm here as the stable boy has, and he’s got as much to make up for. And if this has been a hard week for him, it must be hell for Merlin and Morgana on a weekly basis.

He wonders how much of a coincidence it is that two of the people closest to him have magic.

“Is there… is there some way that you can prevent him from ever entering this kingdom again, if I were to banish him? Make him swear to never return?”

Morgana’s eyes are wide and hopeful, and Merlin looks up for the first time, a smile on his face.

“That could be arranged.”

 

           

In the end, Uther doesn’t even hear a single word of what has happened. All he knows is that the stable boy has gotten terribly homesick and wished to quit his job and return home. The meeting with Bayard goes smoothly (though he makes sure Merlin isn’t there for the banquet—some things are hard to forget or forgive, and a poisoning is one of them). It’s a strangely anticlimactic event given everything that’s happened, and Arthur is grateful. Especially when he still has to face Merlin tonight after everything that’s happened and everything he’s accused him of.

He returns to his rooms after it’s over, not quite sure what to expect, but when he opens the door Merlin is bustling around like always, picking up stray clothes and putting things in place. He looks up when Arthur comes in, and gives a small smile.

And Arthur feels himself melt. His shoulders drop, and he says, “Merlin—” just as Merlin is starting to say, “Arthur, I—”

He presses on. “No, let me. I’m… sorry. I know why you didn’t tell me. I know I can’t pretend to know how it is to live with magic after only having it for a week, but I’m sorry that you’ve had to hide it, and I’m sorry I thought the worst of you.”

Merlin doesn’t say anything, but he walks up to Arthur, and Arthur can’t meet his eyes. “Hey.” There’s a warm hand on his cheek, and he finally looks up. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so emotional before, it’s disarming.” Arthur laughs despite himself, and then Merlin says, “Well we’re in the same boat now, so I guess now you _will_ know what it’s like to hide your magic.”

“I guess I will.” He pauses. “Merlin, things will be different when I’m king,” he says, and it doesn’t feel like a promise as much as it feels like a statement of fact.

“I know. I wouldn’t have stuck around so long if I didn’t, would I?”

“Well you’re not exactly bright are you?”

Merlin snorts, and they stand there for a few seconds, grinning at each other.

“Look,” Arthur says, “Are we still… Can I…?”

Merlin just rolls his eyes and leans in to kiss him, and he smiles into it, feeling inexplicably on the verge of laughter, some bright feeling he doesn’t want to name bubbling up in his chest.

They have time.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope this did what it was supposed to and is okay ; _ ; I feel like it feels rushed so I'm really uncertain hahaa. I've never written a fic specifically for anyone before. I've always wanted to write a more light hearted fic though, and this was fun :) Thanks for the prompt, ChaoticDemon, and I hope you like it :))


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